


cocoa, sugar, water, and salt (the down through the generations remix)

by alessandriana



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/pseuds/alessandriana
Summary: Three Robins across three winters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I fully intended to include Steph & Damian, but unfortunately ran out of time!

**Bruce & Dick**

 

"Hot chocolate? R-really, Batman?" Dick crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his nose haughtily in the air. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was shivering violently, tremors running up and down his whole body. Mr. Freeze had clipped him with a freeze ray, and breaking him out had taken the very slow, very careful application of low-grade explosives-- more than long enough to seriously lower Dick's body temperature. "I'm n-not a k-k-kid," he tried anyways, teeth chattering. 

Bruce regarded Dick, huddled on the curb in all of his eleven year-old glory, with a jaundiced eye. But the only thing he said was, "It's warm."

Dick held out for all of ten more seconds before carefully reaching a hand out from under his cape for the paper cup. His hand was shaking as well, but he bit his lip and after a moment it steadied and he was able to bring it to his mouth to take a sip without spilling.

Batman sank down onto the curb next to Dick, cape pooling behind him. "We can go ho-- go back to the manor, if you want," he said, keeping his tone free of judgement. "Freeze is in custody, and most criminals will be wise enough to stay in for the rest of the night, now that the cops are out in force."

Dick took another resentful sip of the hot chocolate. "I'm f-fine," he insisted. "We can go back to patrolling, I just-- need a sec, okay?" He swallowed a whole gulp this time. His hands really were steadying, Bruce noted, but not fast enough for Bruce's comfort. And although color was hard to tell under the street lights, his lips still looked a little bit blue.

Bruce was still learning how to deal with having an eleven-year old kid under his care who looked to him for help and guidance. When he wasn't sure what to do, he generally asked himself what Alfred would do-- the hot chocolate, for example, had been an Alfred sort of solution. It ought to have been followed by a swift trip home and an evening spent under a pile of blankets. But Dick's chin was set, not a going-home kind of expression, and while they had only been patrolling together for two months now Bruce had learned that despite his first instincts, ordering around an eleven-year old wasn't necessarily the best way to get things done. Besides, Alfred had never been able to keep Bruce home when he'd felt Gotham's rooftops calling. This called for other solutions.

His mother had never sent him home early or to bed against his will when he'd been unable to admit he was tired. She'd only... waited. 

Grabbing the edge of his cloak, Bruce wrapped it around Dick's shoulders, tucking the boy under his arm.

Dick stiffened, and for a second Bruce thought he'd done the wrong thing-- but then all at once Dick relaxed and leaned into Bruce's side, paper cup cradled between his hands. They sat like that for a long time. Eventually, Dick's shivering stopped, and his head drooped to rest on Bruce's shoulder.

After a while, Bruce asked, "Ready to go home?"

Dick mumbled something inaudible, pressing his forehead into Bruce's shoulder. Bruce could help but feel relief that the night wasn't going to end in an argument.

Bruce slid his arms under Dick's knees and stood. Dick's weight in his arms was hardly noticeable; too light, surely, to hold all the energy and determination of the Robin that tumbled with him across the rooftops.

 

 

**Dick & Jason**

 

When Dick found Jason again, he had his nose pressed to the window of one of the downtown department stores, windows bright with holiday lights. Dick was about to make a joke about Tiny Tim, but then he noticed the peculiar cast to Jason's mouth, and the words died on his lips. "Everything okay?" he found himself asking instead. "No one's robbing the mall Santa, are they?"

Jason jerked in guilt and turned so fast his jacket swirled out behind him like his cape. He blinked owlishly at Dick, like he'd forgotten he'd just run off without evena word. "What? No," he answered belatedly. "Everything's fine. I was just... checking." His lower lip trembled briefly, but was quickly controlled. "I... thought I saw a shoplifter?" 

"Oh?" Dick took another look into the department store, ostensibly to see if Jason was right, but in reality to give the kid a chance to pull himself together. And to see what might have set him off. Jason at fourteen was a quickly growing ball of prickly emotions, more likely to try and punch someone in the teeth than to admit he had feelings; Dick had to admit that was why he'd been avoiding the kid lately, because half the time the person being punched was _him_. (Not that Dick minded physical violence, obviously, but it did get tiring after a while. Bruce attributed the anger to underlying trauma manifesting itself; Dick just thought it was puberty.) But Christmas was just around the corner. When Alfred had asked Dick to take Jason shopping for presents because he was "too busy" (code for him wanting the family to spend more time together), Dick hadn't been able to refuse. It had even been going fairly well up until now.

The window display was innocuous; a miniature Christmas tree covered in red and green ornaments and a stack of presents underneath, a tiny electric train set that chugged in a circle around it, and fake glittery snow piled up high in the corners. The portion of the store visible beyond the display was hardly worth mentioning, either; the particular corner they could see was the jewelry and perfume department, and it was full of the typical three-days-till Christmas rush, lines ten deep. He glanced over at Jason, and saw he'd migrated back to staring in the window; when Dick followed his gaze, he saw he was staring at one particular saleswoman who was straightening a rack of scarves. She had dark curly hair and blue eyes; there was a passing resemblance to Jason, but only just. Just then she looked up and caught them staring. No recognition entered her eyes, and she turned, already moving onto another task. A stranger, then. 

"Hmm, I don't see anything. Maybe they ran off." Dick turned back to Jason, who had turned away from the window when the woman had, and whose his shoulders were set tight in their jacket. He wouldn't look Dick in the eye, head turned to survey the crowds passing on the streets and fists shoved in his pockets.

Dick very carefully didn't sigh. Even though he might not agree with Bruce about the source of Jason's recent anger issues, Bruce wasn't actually wrong that Jason had had more than his fair share of trauma to work through. Knowing the way Jason had been lately, it would do more harm to press the issue. Either way, Dick knew something that would help.

"C'mon, kid," he said, dragging Jason in by the shoulder and ruffling his hair with his free hand so vigorously that Jason squawked in indignation, startled out of his funk. "Let's go get some hot chocolate."

 

**Jason & Tim **

 

Jason found Tim bleeding in an alley off the side of Eighteenth and Eisenhower, whimpering between his teeth as he pressed a hand to his side to staunch the blood flow. His other arm was tucked into his side, broken by the looks of it, and there was more blood trickling into his eyes. His breath puffed quick white clouds into the cold air. He hadn't noticed Jason's presence on the rooftop above, too caught up in his own drama, and for a moment Jason sincerely considered passing on by. This was Gotham, Bat-surveillance central; someone would be on their way soon. 

Then Tim hissed as tried to rip open a bandage pack with his teeth and nearly dropped it onto the dirty alley floor. He swayed and came close to toppling over where he sat. It was deeply, deeply pathetic. 

Jason sighed and jumped off the roof, landing with a thud several feet away. Tim had his bo out by the time Jason landed and had it pointed his way. Jason should probably feel threatened or something. 

"Hey, Red," he greeted.

"Hood. What do you want?" Tim glared suspiciously, though the effect was ruined by the glassy look in his eyes where his mask had been ripped off. Concussion, probably. 

Jason grinned, knowing that Tim would hear it in his voice even if he couldn't see it past the helmet. "Aww, why so suspicious? I just wanted to help a little birdy that fell out of its nest, because I'm a nice guy like that." He settled into a crouch just outside the reach of Tim's bo.

Tim looked away first. After a long moment his arm wavered, and the bo clattered to the ground.

"If you're going to help, then help. If not, go away," he said, voice scraped out of a desperately dry throat. He pressed his hand back to his side, having seemingly given up on the bandage. "N should be here with a pick-up in fifteen minutes. I'll be fine until then. And if you're just here to point and laugh-- please don't." 

If Jason had wanted to laugh, he could have done so from the roof. And he'd satisfied his concerns-- backup was en route. He could go. Any time now.

Instead-- not entirely sure why-- he reached into his pocket, shoulders tightening in annoyance when Tim visibly tensed. Grimace hidden by his helmet, Jason pulled a bandage from his store of first-aid supplies. Two good hands opened the packaging on this one easily, and a quick toss landed it in Tim's lap. 

Tim didn't waste time, slapping it over the wound one-handed. It was self-adhesive, sealing to the broken skin and ripped costume around the worst of it, and Tim carefully pressed in all the edges before finally letting go. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would slow the bleeding for long enough for Dick to get there, at least. 

Instead of saying thank you, Tim cleared his throat. "How about some water?"

Jason snorted. "Greedy, aren't we?" He pulled out a vacuum-sealed thermos, still full. "You get what I've got."

Tim caught the heavy travel mug as it flew at his head-- barely-- and had to struggle to open the top one handed. He managed eventually by tucking it into the corner of his broken arm and twisting with his good hand, though his face paled. Jason didn't offer to help. He was approaching the limits of his willingness to be nice. He was certain Tim would refuse, anyways. 

Tim sniffed at the open top, eyebrow lifting. "Well, that's not what I thought that would be," he said, though it didn't stop him from taking a quick gulp.

"What _did_ you expect?" Jason asked, honestly curious.

Tim shrugged and took another gulp, wincing at the heat. "Alcohol. Coffee, maybe. Hot chocolate? Not really on the list."

Jason shrugged. "It's warm, has plenty of sugar for energy, a little bit of caffeine, and some protein from the milk," he said, not entirely sure why he was explaining himself. "And it tastes a hell of a lot better than coffee."

Tim snorted. "Sacrilege." But he tilted the mug back and swallowed the last few drops without complaint. His looked a touch less shaky when he lowered the mug. He used his good hand to close the top back up and tossed it carefully back to Jason, who tucked it away again.

Tim tilted his head abruptly, then brought his hand up to his ear. "Got it, thanks," he said, and dropped his hand. He looked at Jason, warning in his voice: "N says he'll be here in three minutes," he said. Jason rose to his feet without a word and pulled out a grapple. Whatever had compelled him to help out tonight, it didn't extend to meeting up with the rest of the Bat Clan.

"Thanks," Tim called, as Jason winged away. Jason ducked his head and didn't answer.


End file.
